I have seen the future and it is royally terrifying

Well, I suppose we all knew it was coming.

The royal offspring of Kate and William, that is.

I've done a fairly good job of blacking it all out, all the speculation, the 24hr bump watch, the feverish hysteria. First, there was the initial craze - in the weeks following my arrival in this country no less - and I shrieked sighed inwardly. Then when tragedy struck and the media kinda backed off, I exhaled. Only the tasteless tabloids seemed to remain interested and so all I had to do was avert my eyes when lining up to buy my milk at the news agent's and go merrily on my way.

I'm pleased to say it worked, mostly. It was nice while it lasted.

Yesterday I walked in to my local bookstore for an innocent browse, and was met with a full-on, Union Jack bunting festooned display of books commemorating the as-yet unborn royal's arrival. And it hit me; I've had my respite, it's not like this baby will be gestating forever, and when the water damn dam breaks [insert unfortunate mucous plug/labour/flood crisis management analogy here]...well, gods help us all. Yesterday's shopping excursion was just a taster of what is to come people.

There was this....  

...and this...

...and this.

Source

It's not so much the arrival of the little national obsession bundle of joy that bothers me; I continue to have a lot more trouble with healthy pregnant bellies, which remain a mystical property to me, than I do with babies themselves. I like babies; they're cute and cuddly and entertaining, plus they smell good. So the baby can go ahead and arrive and I'm sure I'll ooh and aah over the deluge of photos and be very happy for all involved.

It's more my terror at and disdain for the faint whiff of...what? Accomplishment? Smugness? Superiority even? As though any baby is not so much a new life in it's own right as an achievement on the part of its parents. (I mean of course the public reception here, and not necessarily the attitude of the parents involved, who have my deepest sympathies in this case, considering what they face.)

It's like that Cult of Glowing Parenthood and Righteous Baby-Making that pervades every live, uncomplicated birth, (bunnies&unicorns! everything is always pretty and perfect! we are in control! modern medicine and lots of money! babybooties&joy!) that tends to make we in the ALI community feel somehow defective, as though our very purpose in life should be to run out and procreate but we're just too stupid or selfish to have figured that one out. Seeing as we can't do it with great ease, it must be an indicator of moral value (or lack thereof), indicating that we lead vacuous, shallow lives with no understanding of 'what really matters'. As though life itself ceases to have all meaning if you don't, or can't bow to that 'natural' imperative. (I guess if you're second in line to the throne of one of the most powerful monarchies on earth, that's actually kinda true. God forbid you should end up gay or childless: not good options in the House of Windsor.) Sometimes, in the objectified-bump-obsessed world we now seem to inhabit, I feel like we've been reduced to a 19th century vision of womanhood as synonymous with, no, secondary to our reproductive capacities. *Shakes head in dismay*

And where the royal baby is concerned? Well, take that whole schtick and amplify it by a hundred. Times a million. I know. Yikes, right?

And all the other merchandise. Oh, the merchandise! (Lest we forget that any of this actually has to do with the jubilation over a tiny, healthy new life or proud new parents. No indeed. It's all about the merch people.)

Here I have to stop and say thank you Hadley Freeman, I think I love you. For reminding me that it is not only us barren bitches who might feel suffocated and nauseated by this ad nauseum obsession and it's overt appeals of consume!monarchy!nationalism!royalwomb!blahblahblah...To say nothing of the 'baby-based bullshit' which our society has so fetishized to the detriment of the collective self esteem of childless (by choice or otherwise) women everywhere. I've always loved your writing and, well, now...I just love you. (But look at me writing like I know anything. Perhaps you're one of us. Perhaps you're a barren bitch too, and that's why you feel this bitter distaste for all things royal baby. Can there really be any other explanation? After all, having witnessed up close the Hilary Mantel fiasco, in which her comments on the Duchess as nothing more than a pretty mannequin in the eyes of the media led to us being reminded that she spoke from a place of jealousy as a fat, barren Booker Prize winning old lady, we must now realize that any commentary on one woman by another is always fed by said jealousy, and is basically, well, a cat fight. Because, obviously.)

Anyway, I digress. What I really want to say is that I wish the happy couple a calm and speedy delivery away from the prying eyes of the paparazzi.

And also:

Time to hunker down, brace for impact, turn off the internet and stockpile bottled vodka water, canned peaches, Ben & Jerry's, and every season of (beautifully misanthropic, baby-free) Curb Your Enthusiasm and Arrested Development.

Because the mother of all triggers is coming people, and it will be wearing a Royal Nappy.